


Afraid of the Light

by tinypurplefishes



Series: What Not to Fear [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hogwarts, Psychological Horror, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypurplefishes/pseuds/tinypurplefishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Courage is knowing what not to fear.” ― Plato. </p>
<p>One. Two. Three. Three mothers. Three daughters. Three sisters. Three lovers. Three disasters. Three triumphs. Three rises. Three falls. Three girls to cry out into the night. Three girls to resist the pull of the night. Three girls to be dragged kicking and screaming into the night. Three chances to prevail the night. Three. Two. One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**

What Not to Fear

Part One: Afraid of the Light

Prologue

**

_“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ― Plato_

**10 February 1962**

There was a woman. A beautiful woman, with sad, vacant eyes and nervous fingers that whispered over the soft silk and lace of her nightdress. There was also a man. A beautiful man, with cold, focused eyes and long, delicate fingers that gripped the wand in his hand. 

The whiteness of his fingers where they gripped too tight was the only sign of emotion, of anything other than indifference. _She looks dead_ , he thought bemusedly, _did I kill her?_ The man was unsure. This observation was true to life. Though the woman's heart continued to beat softly in her chest, her eyes were dead. Eyes that were once a soft blue were cold and lifeless. 

"Sarin." The man said firmly, demanding her attention. "Sarin, _look at me_." But the woman did not turn. "I command you!" 

Finally with a nod, the woman looked towards him. Her eyes were not focused, gaze floating around where the voice had come from. The man's jaw clenched, as the woman named Sarin continued this comatose ruse. 

"Sarin." The man moved towards her in long strides. His hand went to her forehead and brushed back the dark hair there, hand resting on her head. The man went to kneel before where she was sitting by the window. "Sarin. Please." Her eyes fluttered dazedly around the man's face.

The man's hand drifted down to Sarin's arm, curling around with fingers digging into cold, pale skin, while his other hand mirrored this on the woman's other arm. He firmly pushed her back against the window. The woman meekly shivered at the feel of the cold glass, face turning away. She continued to stare into the air with a blank face.

"Sarin." The man all but screamed.

"Tom?" A tired answer came. The man almost gasped in relief.

"Sarin? Can you hear me? Are you okay?" He seemed desperate.

"Where are the babies, Tom?" Sarin whispered with her sad eyes widening tiredly. "What did you do, Tom?"

"What do you—? What?" The man, Tom, was confused, brow furrowing in a minute show of emotion.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" Sarin suddenly screamed, voice piercing the otherwise silent night. Tom was startled, falling back. He arose from the ground with an angry expression, hand raised. His open hand caught Sarin's face, snapping her head to the side and into the closed window behind her with a thud. 

Sarin slumped to the side, a low, possessed moan came from deep in her throat. Her hand travelled up and brushed her reddening cheek. She began to sob lowly, muttering something that Tom could not hear. He leaned in close to her.

"What are you saying, Sarin?" Tom asked, fearful for this woman as he had never been before.

With an anguished wail, Sarin continued, "Kill me. Tom. Please, kill me? Where have I gone?" Tom backed away from her, half crawling on the floor with his legs splayed in front of him. "What did you do to them? To me? You're so terrible. TERRIBLE! I hate you. I love you, so cruel. I HATE YOU. KILL ME!" 

Tom stood abruptly, motioning forward with his wand. It rested against the top of Sarin's head, threatening to comply. "What? You want—?" 

Her head suddenly snapped up, eyes alive as Tom had never seen them, even before this, before him. Sarin quickly took his hand in hers, guiding the wand to her throat. It dug into her as she tightened her hand on his.

"Yes. Do it! Do it. Under the bed, hiding. Just do it! Come out. Please, monster? Won't you do it?" Sarin's voice softened and her eyes began to leak tears. Tears that streamed down her face, down the clear pink mark that Tom had given her. "At least commit. You've stolen me away, so why should I stay? It doesn't seem prudent. No, no! Not prudent!" 

A mad laugh tore itself from her throat. Her eyes were becoming crazed, her dull smile twisted and bitter. Tom looked into her eyes, saw empty, hopeless pleading. Her eyes widened slightly, her smile softened. "Yes." She whispered, "Goodnight moon." There was a green flash of light. Then there was nothing.


	2. Lay Your Head Down

**

What Not to Fear

Part One: Afraid of the Light

Chapter One: Lay Your Head Down

**

_“Lay your head down, try to get some sleep/It's what you need to get some sleep/No one will worry if you shut your eyes/And get some sleep, it's what you need” — Don’t Look Back, Kissing Cousins_

**7 April 1927**

It was a Thursday, late at night. Outside stars twinkled, and inside a baby cried her first scream of life. It was a peculiar sound in a household such as this, screams of life in place of screams of death. Dark magic could be felt in the air, but in that room there was room for only light. The purity of the baby's cries drove away the darkness, supressed it. 

The healer present took the baby to the mother, who cradled her to her bare chest. Soft, new life huddled against her mother, who, despite any regular coldness of her personality, huddled back. There was something about the warmth of her newly born children against her that melted the heart of Irma Black. Her hand came up towards her head and stroked the soft black hair that she found there. Cries still pierced the room.

“A girl, Madam Black.” The healer said with a nervous, twitching smile. Any warmth left Irma Black as she turned her head to the man.

“Fetch my husband, and Walburga.” She said firmly. The healer gave a quick, shaky nod and rushed out of the room. Irma turned back towards her baby, soft smile returning. The girl continued to cry lightly, tiny hand grasping at her mother. The door opened again, this time revealing a tall man, with thin limbs, long, shiny black hair and a gruff expression on his face.

“Another girl, I presume?” The man said bluntly. Irma narrowed her eyes at him, giving a reluctant nod. He hummed lowly, then ushered in a girl that stood behind him. The mousy looking girl held a baby, undoubtedly the young daughter of the man and his wife, and the sister of the new baby. 

Irma reached her hand out for Walburga, and the girl sat her on the bed next to her sister. 

“Nanny, please leave.” The girl's eyes widened in fright and she paled, Irma's cold voice always having such an effect on her. She left quickly, throwing a pitying look back at the two young daughters of Lady Black.

“Her name?” Lord Black asked boredly.

“Sarin.” Irma said with pursed lips. “I've told you this already. Sarin Ara Black. A fitting name for a Black, don't you agree?” Her husband simply hummed again, being a man of few words, and exited the room. Irma shook her head at his callous ways, and his disinterest of their children, especially that they were daughters and not sons.

“Na.” Walburga cried as she saw her new sister. She slapped her hand to the baby's chest. Irma made an annoyed noise and scolded her daughter as Sarin began to whine. 

Lady Black gave a tired sigh, and ran her eyes over her daughters. Her hand caressed Walburga's head and gently guided her down to lay on her chest by Sarin. She laid her head back and closed her eyes tightly, taking in a deep breath. Irma embraced her two children, and began to rest.

**10 October 1935**

Some eight years later, Sarin was down by the pond near the woods behind the Manor. She loved to walk around, smelling the water in the air and hearing nothing but silence. Of course it wasn't silent today. On that day, Sarin was joined by Alphard, her brother. At age five, Alphard had yet to earn the meaning of tact, or even quiet. Sarin supposed that she couldn't be too mad at Alphie, it was a wonder that their parents hadn't terrified the adventure out of him. 

Their arms swung between them, fingers interlocked, and they raced around the bank. Sarin was pleased to hear her younger brother giggle, how shameful for a Black, and tightened her hand in response. She grinned at him, and he grinned back, proudly displaying his lack of all four front teeth. An unfortunate accident a month back involving Alphie's first ride on a broomstick had taken care of those. Mother was almost inconsolable, only the knowledge that his adult teeth would grow back in their place could calm her.

“Sarin.” Alphie droned questioningly.

“Yes, Alphie!” Sarin answered, already exasperated.

“Are there frogs in the pond?” He blinked up at her with imploring eyes. Sarin looked back with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“I suppose so, Alph!” She stated. Alphard's mouth dropped open, jumping towards her.

“Can we catch some?” He asked excitedly. Sarin became panicked, it always started along these lines.

“What? NO!” But it was too late, Alphard had jumped towards the pond, landing a foot inside the water. “Alphard!” Sarin shouted, but Alphard was already on his knees in the shallow water. Sarin quickly followed him, stopping on the edge of the water. “Alphard, get out! Now!”

“No!” Alphard shouted happily.

“Alphard! Please! Out, now!” Sarin whined, knowing that she was going to get the blame.

“No! You sound like mummy!” He chirped. Sarin's face dropped in horror. 

“Hey! You take that back!” 

"No!" Alphard giggled. Sarin took on a twisted smile and bent her knees.

“Well, would mummy do this?” She asked her brother as she sprung into the pond beside him. Alphard giggled in response and shook his head quickly. He grabbed her hand in his own little one and tugged her a foot further into the pond. 

“Come on, help me find one!” Sarin shook her head and rolled her eyes at her baby brother's antics, but bent down beside him in the water and searched the mud at the bottom of the pond with her hands anyway.

**7 April 1938**

It was Sarin's eleventh birthday, and she was excited. This fact was rather significant, in that the children of the Black family are expected to be wholly reserved; the current Black patriarch himself subscribing to the, surprisingly muggle, belief that children should be seen and not heard. But, even with the threat of punishment looming over her head, Sarin raced downstairs to the kitchen with uncontainable excitement. 

It should be obvious to anyone of note that this excitement stemmed from the aforementioned 'eleventh birthday', being that this was the day that magical girls and boys received the much anticipated letter to Hogwarts. As Sarin was a descendent of the 'Moste Ancient and Noble House of Black', the arrival of said letter was certain; it would not do for any of the Blacks to be a squib.

So when Sarin skidded to a stop, slide halted by the fuzzy pink socks so uncharacteristic of a Black, the sight of a tiny, decidedly overwhelmed house elf brandishing a parchment envelope (complete with stark emerald writing) in the air was welcome.

“Miss, here's ya letter!” The house elf squeaked quite redundantly. Sarin swiped the envelope out of the elf's hand and rushed over to sit at a small table squashed into some hidden corner of the kitchen. Her thumb lightly caressed the words found on the front:

_Miss S. Black_  
The Bluest Room, at the End of the West Hall  
Black Manor  
Wiltshire 

Sarin's lip tugged up in a crooked smile as she slid her finger under the red wax seal that depicted the Hogwarts crest, opening the envelope to find the typical letter given to first years, as she had seen in her only sister Walburga's first Hogwarts letter just two years before. She skimmed the letter absentmindedly, daydreaming of what she would do with her days upon arriving at Hogwarts, as a prospective student was wont to do, when someone entered through the door that she had just came through. 

Sarin looked up to see her mother, who appeared as she always did: tired shadows under heavy eyes, hair haphazardly arranged into something desperately trying to resemble neatness, and not-quite presentable robes hanging off of her gaunt frame. Her mother had been this way for as long as Sarin could remember, no doubt because of the complete apathy shown by Sarin's father; to Sarin, it seemed catching.

“Mother, my letter arrived.” Sarin intoned, not quite bothering to give complete enthusiasm for such an unwelcome social convention.

“Hmm, that's nice, dear.” Irma mumbled to her daughter, not giving attention to anyone but the timid house elf in front of her giving her some ghastly concoction to combat whatever she felt had overtaken her this morning. She shuffled out of the room, considerately throwing an ambivalent glance to Sarin. 

Sarin huffed in quiet annoyance, heading towards a door opposite the one where her mother had exited, hoping to find some unfortunate soul to pester with her exciting news, which did not seem so exciting after facing her passive mother. After many twists and turns, Sarin found herself in front of her brother Alphard's room. She gave a knock and twisted the doorknob before any reply could be heard. Sarin entered the room and spotted her brother sleeping, covers pulled over his head despite the almost complete absence of light.

“Alphie!” She called lightly, sliding over the hardwood floors, in her fuzzy socks, towards the bed. He snapped the covers down abruptly and glared at her with barely open eyes, squinting at the minimal light that the open door let in.

“Someone better be dying.” He grumbled, sitting up with one hand scrubbing against his eyes, then he suddenly brightened, “Is it Mother?” Alphard asked excitedly. Sarin snorted an involuntary laugh and bounced onto the bed beside her younger brother.

“No, no one’s dead, you loon.” She stuck her nose into the air with practiced haughtiness common of those belonging to ancient Pureblood families, “I’ve gotten my letter to Hogwarts.

“Ughh.” Alphard groaned, laying back down and bringing the sheets tightly over his head once more. “Go gloat to somebody who cares.” He moaned, lamenting, “Why do you get to escape? It’s just not fair.” Sarin laughed at her brother’s dramatics and pulled the sheet down a fraction to look into his eyes.

“You can escape in three years, little brother. No sooner, and no later.” She kissed him soundly on his forehead, making him groan and jokingly spew over the side of the bed as she slid off the bed and out of his room. 

Sarin smiled widely to herself, spirits successfully raised by her younger brother, and journeyed to her own room. She rushed through the door and spotted her trunk, dragging it into the middle of the room with no shortage of huffs and puffs at its heaviness. There was a wary moment when Sarin noticed the dark scuffs that now littered the floor, but she decided that no ruined floor would depress her mood. 

“No matter. No matter.” She mumbled to herself as she scuttled around the room. Sarin brightened as she slid open the bottom drawer of her dresser. “Ooh, yes, this one, I think...” She continued to mutter to herself as her fingers drifted over a blush pink summer dress, then a longer, velvet affair. 

One by one, Sarin’s belongings were collected on the floor by her trunk. As the pile grew to heights that far exceeded that of the trunk, she called it a day and knelt by the pile. Sarin flicked open her trunk with two clicks of the locks and began placing each dress and each shirt and each book and each treasure carefully in, before she was soon interrupted by a deafening crack.

“Miss Sarin!” An even more deafening screech sounded just by her ear, making her wince and turn to look at whoever had spoken with wide, guilty eyes. “Oh, what a mess! AND THE FLOOR!” A tiny house-elf screeched as she examined the scuff marks, long, nobbled fingers twisting in her pillow-case dress, tears welling up in her wide eyes.

“Nesty!” Sarin admonished the shivering house-elf, “All is well! Are we not magical?” She asked, the house-elf stopped shivering, eyes widening even further.

“Oh! Sorry, I’s so sorry, Miss Sarin!” Nesty dropped to her skinny knees and tugged at Sarin’s dress with shaking fingers. 

“Everything’s fine! Clean this, please.” Sarin told the house-elf firmly, pulling the small creature up with a firm tug on the back of her pillow-case.

“Ooh.” Nesty exclaimed as she was set on her feet, “Thank yous, Miss Sarin.” She bowed once, then curtsied twice for good measure, and snapped her fingers, the scuffs vanishing in a moment.

“All that worrying for nothing!” Sarin chuckled at the house-elf, “Go have some tea.” She suggested, waving the house-elf away. Nesty nodded profusely and vanished with another loud crack. Sarin returned to her packing, thankful that her mother would not have to discover her ‘reckless’ treatment of her precious floors.


	3. Insanity Is the Rule

**What Not to Fear**

**Part One: Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter Two: Insanity Is the Rule**

_“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche_

**1 September 1938**

Sarin stared with heavily-lidded eyes out of the train window, her breath fogging the glass with each soft exhale. She wrinkled her nose at the condensation and raised one finger to stroke a tiny stick-man to life. His limbs were coloured a mossy green by the rushing countryside behind him, and his head was annoyingly disproportionate to his body. One quick wipe with her hand and he was gone.

She rested her head against the clear glass, blank eyes staring out. Her fingers picked at her knee, a tiny ladder began to form on her white stockings. Sarin was alone. Though this may have at one point been an idealised state of being to Sarin, it was not as such at that very moment. She was very disappointed in herself, for missing her brother. Ever since his birth some eight years previous, Alphard had been her respite from the coldness of growing up a daughter of Pollux and Irma Black.

A half-hearted hand rubbed at a small, purple bruise that circled her skinny wrist. Alphie was at home in Wiltshire, and Sarin was on the Hogwarts Express hundreds of kilometres away, bound for the famed school itself: Hogwarts. Though she had been endlessly excited to leave her unwelcoming home, her final words from her father had changed this.

Sarin did not like to think of her family’s inclinations towards dark magic, but this fact was hard to ignore when her father was droning on and on about Sarin’s duty to her family. _No daughter of mine will be a traitor. You will be in Slytherin, like me, like your mother, like our parents before us_. Sarin’s father spouted the same tired rant over and over, but it was only this last time that she fully realised the weight of his words.

Despite her upbringing, Sarin was not exactly looking forward to a life of dreary, evil-doing. A life of wearing black, mixing illegal potions in hidden basements and cursing children for breathing. Such was the life of a Black.

Her hand rubbed the bruise once more. A sharp tinge of pain shuddered from the site where she had poked, Sarin grimaced. And poor Alphie. He was not like Sarin, he was much sweeter, a naughty little boy, but still so sweet. Sarin did not want to dwell on how he was coping at home alone with their parents and their youngest brother Cygnus. Cygnus Black the Third was five years old, and already remarkably alike their parents. _He'll be rotten when he grows up_ , Sarin predicted.

“Oi, ‘oo are you, then?” The door to her compartment suddenly slid open and a smirking voice called to her. Sarin turned calmly to face her intruder and she wrinkled her nose up at what she saw. A boy in astonishingly drab, grey clothes, with a patched cap settled high on his head and a practical field of dirt smeared over his cheeks.

“Why on Earth are you so dirty?” Sarin asked with prim confusion. The boy just chuckled at her and slid into the room, landing with a bounce on the opposite seat, grinning merrily at her. Sarin stared at him with faint disgust.

“I’m Jack.” He said abruptly, looking at her expectantly.

“You must be Sarin Black.” Another voice declared from outside of the open door, Sarin’s head turned once more to see a girl who looked around her age, along with a boy who looked remarkably similar to her. “Leave.” The girl directed a glare towards ‘Jack,’ who grimaced and stood from where he was strewn over the seat, giving one last hopeful glance toward Sarin before slinking out, looking spectacularly downtrodden. 

“Indus Lestrange.” The boy said shortly, leaning against the door frame.

“Gemma Lestrange.” The girl soon followed him, she crossed into the room and sat where Jack had, smoothing her skirt delicately around her knees.

“May I help you?” Sarin asked suspiciously, with eyes narrowed as she glanced between the two; each had the same easy smile plastered on their faces, both of which were noticeably fake.

“We know your older sister, Walburga.” Indus informed her with a smooth voice from where he stood.

“She’s in the year above us.” Gemma clarified, Sarin saw her eye twitch in barely restrained annoyance, before her face smoothed over once more.

“Walburga’s quite miserable.” Sarin said honestly, eyes flickering between the twins to see their reactions, and she was not disappointed. An identical amused smile overtook both of their faces for a second, before they swiftly became blank again; it was common practice for Purebloods to be taught to conceal honest emotion.

“Hmm, I’ll certainly not dispute that,” Gemma hummed, a nasty smirk stretching across her face as she glanced at her twin, “I digress...you’ll be in Slytherin, I presume?” The girl looked expectantly at Sarin.

“Of course.” Sarin replied obviously; if she wasn’t in Slytherin, her mother would go crazed with hysteria and her father would disown her. 

“We’re both in Slytherin.” Sarin looked to Indus as he spoke, her eyes narrowed fractionally in an effort to not declare that as being obvious: both of them were in their Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin crest was emblazoned on their breast, as well as emerald and silver striped ties that were tight around their respective throats. 

The three sat, and in Indus’ case stood, in the silence which had befallen them for a minute that stretched into four. Suddenly, Gemma stood and joined her brother at the door.

“Good luck with your first year, Black.” Indus said finally, barely sparing her a second glance before turning and walking back from whence he had come.

“We’ll see you in Slytherin.” Gemma added, nodding her head cordially towards Sarin, her ashy hair fell over her face. She smoothed her hair back out of her eyes and swiftly followed her brother.

Sarin stared at the empty doorway for a moment, before rolling her eyes skyward and turning to shuffle through the bag that was strewn over the seat beside her. She rummaged around in the bag, at one point her arm becoming fully submerged despite the bag’s deceivingly small exterior, until she found the object of her desire; a small, purple velvet-covered book.

She shoved the bag away from her, not minding the collection of patterned quills which spilled over the seat, and let the small book fall open on her lap. A hum filled the compartment as she furrowed her brow, one finger slid across the words on the page, searching for something. 

“Aha!” Sarin absent-mindedly exclaimed as her finger landed on a small passage describing the negative effects of using a levitation charm on objects charmed to be anthropomorphic; there was a charming picture of a chair which had seemingly swallowed its occupant.

“Sarin?” A droll voice called from above her, she looked up with a grimace already stretched over her face in anticipation. “Gemma said you were here alone.” Walburga Black, Sarin’s not-so-beloved older sister, said shortly, “Why?” Cold and straight to the point; Walburga’s specialty.

“Just getting my last moment’s peace before I have to share a dorm with a horde of snakes, Burg.” Sarin said exasperatedly, trying to return to concentrating on her book.

“Augh,” Walburga groaned prissily, “Do _not_ call me that, _Sarin_.” She sneered, making Sarin roll her eyes in genuine annoyance, no fondness to be found. Walburga slinked into the compartment and sat primly on the seat opposite her, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Mother ordered me to ensure you weren’t alienating prospective allies.” Walburga narrowed her eyes at Sarin, mouth set in a hard line, “Indus told me he met you. He said you were perfectly pleasant, but I know better.” She leant forward to look into Sarin’s eyes, blonde hair tumbling to hang against her cheek, “You will not ruin this for us.” Walburga said firmly, “You _will_ be in Slytherin. Or you will be _disowned_.” She sat back with a smirk, “Of course, I am not averse to that, but it would not do to ruin the reputation of our family.” 

“Don’t you worry, Burg,” Sarin sighed, rolling her eyes once more at Walburga’s dramatics, “I’ll be the perfect Slytherin.” She reassured her sister, looking down at her book and waving Walburga away absent-mindedly.

Walburga huffed in annoyance and stood, making her way out of the compartment. She paused and added, “We’ll be arriving soon, change into your uniform.” Walburga slid the door shut with a heavy bang and Sarin felt relieved at her absence. 

Sarin stood and let her book fall out of her lap and onto the seat, reaching over to pull the shade on the compartment door down to cover the window. She climbed up onto the seat and stood, peering into the overhead storage and unlatching her trunk. After a minute of rummaging around and cursing her lack of forethought, Sarin finally located her Hogwarts uniform and pulled it from the trunk, dropping it onto the seat near her feet. 

Within five minutes, Sarin was dressed and ready for her First year at Hogwarts, her slate grey dress and blazer fitting nicely to her body. She pulled open the shade and narrowed her eyes at the giggling children that ran up and down the corridor, an older boy running after them madly, huffing and puffing with his face red from exhaustion. 

She dismissed the rambunctious children outside and returned to her seat, glancing out of the window to note that the sky was a dusky pink and orange turning swiftly duller and darker.

“One minute to Hogwarts!” A softened shout sounded through the closed compartment door, Sarin promptly gathered her loose belongings and stood once again on the bench to return them back to her trunk. As she was clipping the latches shut, the door behind her slid open, she rolled her eyes at the nosiness of these people, _how many unwelcome interruptions must I suffer through?_ , she thought to herself in a mental protest. Sarin turned and looked expectantly at her intruder, it was the boy from before, _Jack_ , she remembered.

“Yes?” Sarin enquired shortly, dropping down onto the floor with a jump, then smoothing down her dress.

“Uh...I was just wonderin' if you needed any 'elp.” Jack asked quietly, eyes wide with hope. Sarin stared up at him with confusion, and he glanced upwards towards her trunk.

“Trunks are transported magically to the castle after we leave the train.” She said obviously, then narrowed her eyes at him, “Are you muggleborn?” 

“Uh, yes.” Jack smiled sheepishly, Sarin hummed ambivalently then pushed past him without another word as the train came to a slow, grinding halt. “Wh—?”

She heard him protest behind her as she shouldered through the mass of students pouring through the corridor and out onto the station platform. Sarin narrowed her eyes in search of the gamekeeper who was to take the First years across the Black Lake to Hogwarts. 

“First years, this way!” A crisp, booming voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd, Sarin turned to see a tall, thin man beckoning the First years towards him with long, skinny arms. She grimaced minutely at the ragged state of his patched coat, but made her way towards him. Sarin came to a stop in front of the tall man, the other First years shoving and nudging her around. 

“Good evening, all! I’m Ogg, _gamekeeper_ , here to take you across the Black Lake. This way!” The man beamed down at them, then turned and began to stride along a path headed away from the platform, heavy, rusted lantern thrust ahead of him to light their way. Sarin couldn’t help but feel regret as her shiny shoes turned dull with mud as they looped through towering trees and sloping hills, then relief as they neared an opening. Her eyes turned wide of their own accord as she took in the sight before her. 

A pale grey, pebbled beach gave way to a pitch-black lake, the stillness of the water gave it the appearance of the night sky above them; the only thing separating the two was the Hogwarts castle itself. Its ramshackle towers and building were cobbled together and topped with faded, dark tile roofs and hundreds of pinprick windows were lit with a pale yellow, welcoming glow. Beyond the castle, Sarin could see a rickety bridge placed precariously over a sheer valley and tall, pale mountains rose high in the distance; it was hard to maintain ambivalence when faced with such wondrous beauty.


	4. Really Bothered

**

What Not to Fear

Part One: Afraid of the Light

Chapter Three: Really Bothered

**

_“We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?”― Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury_

**2 September 1938**

Sarin awoke to a brilliant emerald green. The curtains were pulled tightly shut around her four poster bed; the invasion of colour being a preferable sight to the sneering faces of those who shared her dormitory. Such is the way of a Slytherin, subjected to perpetually sneering faces in fulfilment of their familial duty. It had been just the night before that Sarin had worn that raggedy Hat and been proclaimed a ‘Slytherin.’ In spite of herself, she really was proud to have been sorted so.

“Did you steal my hairbrush? You bloody twit!” A screeching voice suddenly filled the air; _perhaps not that proud_ , she lamented. Sarin sat up in bed and let loose an involuntary yawn, shaking her dark hair out. She outstretched her hand to pull the curtain back but hesitated for a second, but soon decided that a few moments exposure to her horrid dorm-mates would be worth an unhurried appearance.

“Sarin!” The owner of the screeching voice smiled towards her, the re-stolen hairbrush brandished high in the air. “You’re up late!” 

Sarin paid no mind to her, giving only a vague mumble in return, then hurriedly snatched her uniform from the end of the bed. Following a rather smooth escape, she showered speedily and re-joined the havoc after only a few minutes. Dodging an offer of a no doubt ill-intentioned makeover, Sarin grabbed her already packed bag and hurried out of the dorm and up the sloping hall towards the common room. 

“Ooh, a baby First year—” An older boy called from where he lounged on an armchair, Sarin rolled her eyes and paid him no mind, continuing her fast stride out of the common room and into the cold stoned halls of the Dungeons. 

With the Slytherin Dungeons only being a short walk and two flights of steps away from the Entrance Hall, Sarin was soon in the Great Hall for breakfast; no guide was necessary. Sarin made her way to the Slytherin table on the closest side of the Hall, sitting at the end with a huff, one hand quickly grabbing a slice of buttered toast. 

She nibbled delicately on one corner while she rummaged around in her backpack, _she really needed to learn to organise her belongings_ , for her timetable. _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ , she read as being first up on Fridays in a double period. Sarin hummed in interest, though she quickly remembered that there would certainly be nothing too interesting taught, with her being a First year.

A larger bite of the toast, Sarin put her timetable back in her bag, mentally mapping out the way to the Defence classroom. _It would not do for a Pureblood to be late to class_. Sarin had always silently mocked her parents’ lessons, but they seemed to be helpful in retrospect, at least in this instance.

Sarin walked fast up the six sets of staircases to the third floor and shoved her way through the crowds as she moved towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. She finally arrived at her destination and leaned casually against the stone wall across the door, noticing a gaggle of her fellow Slytherin First years, and a few of other Houses, arriving behind her. 

“How’d you know the way?” A Slytherin girl asked as she scrubbed her red cheeks, flushed from the brisk walk.

“My parents thought it pertinent for me and my siblings to learn our way around the castle.” Sarin replied dismissively, adjusting her bag to sit comfortably against her back.

“Most of the Purebloods’ parents do.” A Ravenclaw boy added plainly, pulling on his incorrectly tied tie. Sarin glanced away from her classmates and back to the door just in time to see it edge open by itself.

“Enter!” A light, muffled voice called from inside, a woman’s head was tilted to see out of the door, she beckoned them in with sharp movements. 

Sarin stood motionless for a moment, moving after the commotion of the other First years and entering lastly. She made her way to a table in the third row; not the front, not the back.

“I’m Professor Merrythought,” Their professor stood, she made her way around her desk and stopped by the first row, gazing around at her newest students with a satisfied smile, “I’ll be you Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for the duration of your time at Hogwarts, hopefully...” Merrythought chuckled lightly to herself, then became slightly more amused as only a smattering of laughs returned hers, adding quietly, “Cheerful bunch, you Slytherins and Ravenclaws.”

Before Sarin was able to mentally defame her faltering character, the door to the classroom swung open wide, thankfully only smacking lightly on the stone wall. She, along with the rest of the class, turned to see a Slytherin boy standing in the doorway. At their attention, his blank expression gave way to an open smirk.

“Professor Merrythought?” His smooth voice washed over the class, “Tom Riddle. I apologise for my tardiness, but Professor Dumbledore required my aid.” Merrythought stepped forward and ushered him in, pointing towards the only open seat—which was a row ahead of Sarin’s and two desks to the right, next to a particularly snot-nosed Ravenclaw boy. Sarin did not envy Tom Riddle for his position.

“Late on the first day, must be a record!” Merrythought chuckled lightly to herself, Sarin saw Tom’s eye flinch as he walked through the desks towards his own. “Anyway, on to business!”

Sarin opened her textbook with the others as Merrythought began to introduce the subject to them, she drifted off. Their professor was talking only of inane things, as well as the most basic of information that Sarin had learnt soon after purchasing her books, if not years earlier from her tutor.

As Merrythought droned on and on, Sarin’s attention turned to the boy who was late, Tom Riddle. He seemed an ordinary boy, _if quite beautiful_ , she admitted to herself. Upon first glance, she reminded him of a Muggleborn, if she was being entirely honest with herself. But an unmistakably Slytherin air surrounded him; he looked upon the castle and the magic within with a Muggleborn’s wonder, but at the other rabble with a Slytherin’s arrogance and condescension.

Sarin was startled as she realised that, in her haze of thought, Tom Riddle had turned his head fractionally to return her stare with cold eyes, as if he had sensed her attention. She felt as though her gaze was caught in his, looking away after a few moments with a furrowed brow. Through her peripherals, she could see Riddle face the lecturing Merrythought once more. With an uncomfortable shiver rattling through her bones, Sarin struck Riddle from her thoughts and focused on Merrythought. 

**3 December 1942**

Sarin huffed, her breath fogging the freezing air in front of her, as she strode through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts castle. She clutched her books closely to her chest and pulled her knit hat down firmly over her brow, inwardly cursing Salazar Slytherin for his placement of the Slytherin common room. _Anyone who would ever choose to live in a dungeon is sure to be a madman_ , she thought derisively. 

After pausing for a brief moment to recall the password to enter the common room, ‘ _Freud, libera nos a malo_ ,’ which Sarin supposed was chosen by a Slytherin Prefect familiar with Muggle psychology and unfamiliar with the inevitable negative response it would cause by any who recognised the reference. She intoned the password and absent-mindedly shook her head at the small, insignificant revolt some person had staked their safety and comfort on. Though, Sarin was sure no one would think to question something as simple as a password, especially since it had already been in place for almost a week.

As she passed through the common room, she nodded in acknowledgement towards the few students she recognised that had gathered around the warming fire. Sarin finally spotted Alphard curled up in an armchair off to the side away from the others, she approached him and silently urged him to make room for her. With a sigh, she sat and pulled Alphard into her arms, his head rested on her shoulder. Alphard was in his first year at Hogwarts, and was not adjusting to the harsh environment of Slytherin House, even with his sister with him. 

“You okay, Alphie?” She asked softly, careful not to speak loud enough for the other Slytherins to hear them; most of them would pounce on any sign of weakness.

“Yeah.” Alphard sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes, “It’s just...nobody likes me. Orion called me a blood traitor.” Sarin scoffed derisevly at hearing their second-cousin Orion’s name.

“Orion is purist _bastard_...he’s had a crush on Burg for years now, y’know? Merlin knows why...she's years older than him, not to mention a complete horror...and his cousin. Second, but, still...” Sarin grimaced at the last thought, Alphard looked at her in disgust, making her grimace turn to a smirk. 

“What, really? Blech!”

“Mmhmm, so don’t pay any mind to him.” Sarin brushed Alphard’s hair from his brow and looked into his eyes, nodding to herself when she saw that he was looking better already, “You’ll make friends.” Sarin promised, “Even...if you have to look outside of Slytherin for them.” Alphard hummed and nodded his head against her shoulder.

“Alphard?” A musical voice interjected lightly, Sarin and Alphard looked up simultaneously to see Tom Riddle staring down at them. His blank expression cracked into a small smile, eyes remaining impersonally cold, Sarin felt the usual unease. “May I talk to your sister for a moment? Privately?” 

Alphard assented, getting up from the chair, Sarin barely restrained herself from reaching after him; in the five years she had attended Hogwarts, she had always thought Tom Riddle to be a bit of an oddity, manipulative, even. Alphard stepped around Tom, who turned to watch him retreat. Sarin stood from the chair with a muffled sigh, moving to stand before Tom.

“Yes?” She enquired shortly, blinking her eyes slowly at him twice, refusing to smile as he did.

“It’s our turn to patrol?” Tom lilted his words to turn his statement from accusing to suggestive, Sarin furrowed her brow and curled her fingers around her forearm. She’d forgotten; her and Tom had been chosen by Dippet as the Slytherin fifth year prefects, they patrolled the corridors in search of curfew-breaking students, in rotation with the other prefects.

“Yes, of course...I was distracted.” Sarin brushed past him, heading for the door to the hall outside the common room.

“Sarin?” He called after her, she rolled her eyes fractionally, then turned to him with a false smile.

“Yes, Tom?” Sarin let the beginnings of a smirk slip as he flinched at his name; Tom had never liked his abhorrently plain, Muggle name, at least by Sarin’s reckoning.

“If...you are busy, I could patrol alone?” Tom smiled at her charmingly, stopping before her. Sarin craned her head back and stared into his dark eyes for a moment, searching for something; it seemed he wanted to patrol alone.

“No, Tom!” Sarin smiled widely at him, reaching behind her for the doorknob, “I’d hate to neglect my duties!” She stepped out of the common room, lips quirked into a smaller, private smile at the almost impatient sigh she heard from behind her.

Tom paced out after her, easily gaining on her short lead and walking alongside her. “You know, one might think that you purposely antagonise me.” He noted lightly, throwing her a side-glance. Sarin looked thoughtful for a moment, returning his gaze.

“One might think that, yes.” She replied coyly, shooting him an innocent smile. Sarin was amused to see his eye twitch; it had a rather amusing habit of doing so, often in her presence. Tom stopped in the middle of the hall, Sarin walked a few steps before stopping as well, looking back at him expectantly.

“After you, then.” She swept her hand towards the hall that adjoined the one they were walking down, half-bowing to him with a mocking grin. He flashed his eyes at her, then obviously decided not to bother, striding past her with a straight face. Sarin tilted her head and looked after him curiously, before taking after his example and overlooking the exchange.


	5. Running For Your Life

**What Not to Fear**

**Part One: Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter Four: Running For Your Life**

_“Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.” ― Lemony Snicket_

**7 December 1942**

“Shh!” Sarin shot a quick glare behind her at the librarian—a mousy, indiscriminate man of rumoured squib-status—then continued on with her work. _That man has it out for Slytherins_ , she swore to herself, scratching her quill across the parchment with renewed prejudice, _I’ll show him a noisy quill_.

As her hand twirled with her looping ‘l,’ Sarin slowed, thinking that it was perhaps a mite petty to try to make more noise after being shushed by a librarian—squib or not, it’s his job. Sarin lifted her hand, wincing at the deep scourges in her parchment. One eye closed in fear, she lifted the paper and sighed in relief that the indents had not pierced the table. 

“Do you have something in your eye?” A curious, small voice called from across the table. Sarin’s closed eye opened wide and she stared at the tiny boy sitting across from her—doubtlessly a first year—and scoffed. 

“No, absolutely fine!” She smirked in amusement, setting her quill upon her parchment once more.

“Shh!” This time, the librarian’s voice sounded right by her ear, she cringed at the light spray of spit against the back of her neck.

“Do you mind?” Sarin squealed embarrassingly loud, glaring at the librarian.

“Out.” He said shortly, already trudging off down the rows of bookcases.

“Shit.” Sarin cursed softly to herself, ignoring the small gasps of the first years around her at her crassness. With a groan, she sat down her quill and stood, picking up her backpack off the ground near her feet and shoving all of her belongings back in. 

Glancing up, she noticed that dozens of eyes were staring at her, she looked back incredulously and shot them a collective warning glance. All but those in emerald green hurriedly looked back down at their tables. Sarin rolled her eyes at the rest. Bustling out, Sarin left the library and scanned the corridor outside. 

“That was dramatic.” A drawling voice called from behind her, she turned to see Indus Lestrange smirking from where he leant casually against the wall beside the library entrance. Sarin rolled her eyes and pulled her backpack straps tighter around her, ignoring him to walk down the hall. “Whoa, whoa, wait up, Black!” He rushed to follow her, blonde hair falling fluffily into his eyes.

“My name is Sarin.” She said flatly, annoyed at the callous tradition of referring to people by their last names—especially with a hefty portion of the school population belonging to her family. For all she knew, Indus was not talking to her at all.

“Sarin!” He pulled her name out in his drawl, stepping ahead of her and stopping with a lopsided grin plastered on his face, “I was just wondering—”

Sarin covertly shook her head and stepped around him, striding ahead. 

“Would you like—”

“No.” She called back flatly, not sad to see that he had stopped in the corridor, no longer following her. Indus had been particularly adamant about them getting to know each other more intimately, but Sarin could not think of a more undesirable thing than dating a Lestrange.

“Sarin.” She almost snapped at the voice, but caught herself as she realised it hadn’t been Indus’ voice that spoke; it was another, one she wasn’t any fonder of.

“Tom?” Sarin lilted her word, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he fell into step beside her, long legs easily matching her stride.

“You were ordered to leave the library.” He said obviously, Sarin shot him a confused side-glance. “As prefects, we are expected to behave in an exemplary manner—” Sarin stopped in place, glaring at Tom who soon noticed her absence.

“Excuse me?” She smiled lightly, though her cold eyes betrayed her immense anger. Tom turned to her and returned her smile, his just as unfeeling as hers.

“I would ask you to refrain from petty grievances in the future.” Tom’s eyes narrowed fractionally as he stepped once toward her.

Sarin’s head tilted backwards as she had to compensate for their difference in height, her eyes narrowed warningly at him, “That sounded suspiciously like an order.”

“Oh, it was.” Tom replied lightly, smile widening to show slivers of his teeth, Sarin was surprised to see that they were not alike a shark’s as she had imagined. Her head remained tilted to look at Tom but her gaze dropped to the floor, a smirk widened across her face.

Glancing up at him once more, Sarin replied in the same light tone he had used, “Of course, Tom. I shall...endeavour to fulfil your wishes.” She smiled with false benevolence and bustled past him, leaving Tom staring after her, certain that he had just given her cause to contradict his request.

**14 December 1942**

One week later, Sarin was in Tom’s company once more—every so often she would look up from where she was polishing snuff boxes and shoot him a cold glare, sometimes catching sight of his own cold glare directed at her. After a rather disappointing foray into rebellion, Sarin had gotten both herself and Tom caught by Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor, in the act of duelling for the position of Slytherin prefect. They had postponed their hostile relationship long enough to agree that they were not suitable as each other’s partner, and one of them must be demoted from their position. 

Sarin huffed, one lank piece of her black hair floated out of her sight, she rested her newly calloused hands on her knees for a moment. _It’s all his fault_ , Sarin thought murderously to herself, despite rationality suggesting that both were in the wrong.

“Miss Black?” She looked up to see Dumbledore’s annoying, twinkling blue eyes gazing back, “If you would?” He nodded for her to continue with his polishing. Sarin huffed again, returning to her work with a vengeance, narrowing her eyes at a particularly durable smudge.

Three painful hours later, Sarin and Tom walked together in a mutually surly silence back to the Slytherin dungeons. After arriving, they went their separate ways; Sarin collapsed by the fire with Gemma Lestrange and Tom sat across the room with his so-called friends—she thought they acted more like lackeys.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” Gemma smirked down at Sarin whose head was buried in her shoulder, she groaned.

“Gemma, he’s insufferable! Turning me in, just because he’s overly fond of his socks for Merlin’s sake.” Sarin ducked her head around and shot him a cursory glance, “I mean, that’s weird, right? So what if I bribed the House Elves with extra work to withhold them from him...” She sighed, “At least Dumbledore has it in for him, gave him detention as well.”

Gemma poked one finger into Sarin’s forehead and moved her friend off of her shoulder, “I don’t see why you have it in for each other—you’re both perfectly reasonable otherwise.” She rolled her eyes at her friend’s answering snort, “Now, now, Sarin! That’s not exactly ladylike!” Sarin snorted once more in spite, making Gemma laugh genuinely—accompanied with an accidental snort of her own, making Sarin smirk.

“Who are you, my mother?”

“Ugh, don’t even joke,” Gemma shivered, “Though, if I was, I might knock your heads together.” She nodded over at Tom, Sarin screwed up her nose.

“No way, I’d probably get lice or something.”

“What?” Gemma stared at her incredulously, “Tom is perfectly lovely!” Sarin’s head snapped up to look at her friend in horror, “He is! In fact...he’s asked me to Hogsmeade this coming weekend!”

Sarin slid away from her friend and continued to stare with dismay clouding her eyes, her head dropped against the back of the armchair with a disappointed sigh, “Oh, Gemma...” 

“Don’t give me that look!” Gemma rolled her eyes and stood, flicking her long, ashy hair over her shoulder and moving to stand with her twin brother. Sarin sank down in her chair and groaned to herself, _I feel betrayed—though, what more can you expect with a Slytherin, and, not to mention a Lestrange_.

**19 December 1942**

Sarin stood at the entrance of the long sloping hallway to the Slytherin girl’s dorm, her brother Alphie beside her and Tom Riddle leaning against a nearby wall. It was the weekend before Christmas, and Gemma was almost ready to attend her date with Sarin’s self-professed enemy. Not that she had ever seen Tom commit any deed too heinous—but she had never in her life thus far felt as unnerved as she did in his presence, which was quite a profound feat with her being from a dark wizarding family.

“I don’t get why she’s taking so long, she’s pretty enough without hours of primping.” Alphard grumbled by Sarin’s side, she silently agreed with him. Despite her admirable restraint, Sarin breathed a sigh of relief along with her young brother as Gemma finally rounded the corner, looking much the same as she had two hours previously, much to Sarin’s annoyance. _Though, perhaps her skirt has shortened itself a few inches_ , Sarin shuddered at the thought of Gemma preening herself for Tom.

“Tom!” Gemma beamed, Alphard coughed to surreptitiously cover his snort, Sarin followed suit and delicately hid her smile behind her hand. “Augh.” Gemma wrinkled her nose at the pair, “We’ll be leaving, then.”

“Gemma, can we...” Sarin nodded her over to the side, stopping her from taking Tom’s proffered arm. Both Gemma and Tom narrowed their eyes with suspicion, but Gemma acquiesced and allowed herself to be pulled away.

“What, Sarin?” Gemma sighed exasperatedly, small, genuine smile revealing itself, conveying her excitement for the date. Sarin took in this smile and endeavoured to repress her initial doubts about Gemma and Tom.

“Just...I wanted to tell you to be careful.” Sarin looked into her eyes seriously, “I’ve...heard some things. _Even if_ you don’t believe them, make sure to be on your guard around him...for me?” Gemma’s gaze dropped to the floor, she brought her long, pale ponytail over her shoulder.

“I can do that.” Gemma permitted, she continued with seriousness equal to Sarin’s, “Thank you, not many people have looked out for me in my life, save Indus.” Sarin’s lips quirked into a smile as Gemma backed away, only faltering when she and Tom had left arm in arm. Alphard bounded over to his sister, colliding into her side.

“Think they’ll last?” He asked curiously, Sarin snorted.

“Tom Riddle, despite his charming veneer, has not kept a girlfriend for over a week.” She slumped off to the side, sitting in a nearby armchair. Alphard stared after her in confusion, then realisation brightened his eyes.

“ _How_ do you know that?” He sung, sitting beside her, “I think you’re a bit obsessed with Riddle!” Sarin stared at him in horror, she shuddered at the cold feeling that ran through her veins at the thought.

“Blasphemy, Alphard Black.” She smacked her giggling brother lightly on his shoulder, shaking her head with a smirk, “As if.” Sarin began to laugh at the idea, “In fact, I hope he changes his ways with our dear Gemma, may they be together for many a year!” She toasted with an invisible chalice. Alphard dissolved into giggles once more, and Sarin sat back with a pleased smirk.

“I don’t believe you.” Alphard mumbled into his shoulder, Sarin chose to ignore him with a derisive ruffle of his hair. _Absurd_ , Sarin scoffed, but found that convincing her certain brother would take an enormous amount of effort. So, she kept her silence and snuggled in to the armchair, glad that the majority of Slytherin students had returned home for the Christmas holidays and they were alone in the common room. 

“D’you wanna play exploding snap?” Alphard suddenly looked up at her, eyes wide with hope. 

Sarin hummed thoughtfully, before a smile overtook her face, “Sure, go get the cards.” Alphard jumped up and bounded over to the boys’ dorms—Sarin thought he seemed a bit too ecstatic at her concession, perhaps she had been neglecting her little brother.


	6. Something Wicked

**

What Not to Fear

Part One: Afraid of the Light

Chapter Five: Something Wicked

**

_“By the pricking of my thumbs, / Something wicked this way comes.” ― Macbeth, William Shakespeare_

**1 January 1943**

It was a new year and Sarin was in the same tedious position as she had been weeks before. She huffed a breath and fogged up the window in front of her. One finger squeaked across the frosted glass and drew a tiny stick figure. Sarin stroked her finger up, slid down, then across. A lovely pointed hat for a nice, respectable young wizard. 

She shot a quick glare behind her at Tom Riddle; he stared back with bored, tired eyes, crossing his arms testily. Sarin returned to her nice, respectable young wizard. Then back at Tom. As Sarin finally landed on her stick figure, she imagined it to have a much nicer personality than Tom’s. _Though, that’s not exactly hard to accomplish_ , Sarin smirked at the wizard. Her finger stroked out again and drew a tiny cat beside the wizard, its curling tail nudged against a dusting of frost. Sarin dropped her finger to her lap and shivered at the cold. Even inside, away from all of the snow and gloom, it was freezing. 

“Sit by the fire, Miss Black. No need to catch your death for a glimpse of nothing but snow, it happens almost every year, you know.” A shaking voice called, Sarin turned her head to see the headmaster, Dippet, shuffling into the room. A dutiful smile crossed her face and she stood, arranging her skirt just so, and sat in the chair beside Tom’s. Dippet sat on the other side in his unnecessarily ornate chair.

“Headmaster—” 

Dippet interrupted Tom sharply, “What is you need?” He tapped his twisted finger against the arm of his chair, staring between the two, unimpressed.

“Ah,” A reflective sneer wiped across Tom’s face, it disappeared, “Sarin and I have found our duties as Slytherin prefects...difficult to perform.” Dippet’s unimpressed stare did not lighten. “That is, we are not suited to be each other’s partner.” 

Sarin pursed her lips at Tom’s attempt to charm the un-charmable, she turned to Dippet, “We would like to ask you to rescind one of our positions as a prefect, whichever of us you would choose would then be given another to work with.” Sarin smiled slyly at Dippet, then shot narrowed eyes at Tom, he returned them in kind. At one more glance, Dippet had not warmed; he had pursed his mouth, moustachioed upper lip twitching.

“This is what you have deigned so important, this required my attention on the first day after Winter break?” Dippet sounded tiredly, he tapped one finger against his desk pointedly and the quiet thud drew both Sarin and Tom’s attention. Sarin froze, looking thoughtfully at the desk, then nodded firmly, she saw that Tom similarly indicated his agreement beside her. Dippet rested his forehead in his hand and sighed, Sarin felt her hopes sink. “I will not do so.”  
Sarin froze once again, “But—”

Dippet held up one shaking finger, “The staff and I did not choose the newest prefects lightly, I would thank you not to question our judgement.” Sarin grimaced privately, “Leave. And I expect the both of you to attend your patrols as usual.”

Sarin huffed impatiently, opening her mouth to speak again but being interrupted before she could with Dippet’s hand gesturing for them to leave. Tom and Sarin shared a tumultuous glance and followed his order, standing and promptly leaving the headmaster’s office. 

“I soon expect to hear that you two have sorted your differences!” Dippet called out after them, Sarin rolled her eyes knowing that he could not see and pushed past Tom on the winding staircase out of the room. She stepped out into the hall with a huff and set about returning to the common room to sulk at her lack of success. 

“Sarin.” Tom’s hard voice made her stop in her tracks, her heart thudded once in her chest before she regained her composure.

She swirled around, skirt fanning out and hitting her thighs softly, “Yes, Tom?” Her voice was flat. Tom moved forward a few steps to stand directly in front of her, once again forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, he had an annoying habit of doing that.

“At the risk of admitting my own wrong-doing, I would like to suggest that we come to an accord.” Tom held out a hand. Sarin stared down at his long, pale fingers, then looked back up at him with confusion in her gaze, “If we are to be partners for just under three years, to be at least amicable would be beneficial to both of us.” His hand stretched further towards her. Sarin took an automatic step back and barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his pretention.

“Fine.” Sarin grasped his icy cold hand in hers for a moment, then claimed her hand back again. She spun on her heel and left him standing there, his thoughtful gaze staring after her.

**4 January 1943**

Sarin stared blankly into nothing as Gemma talked loudly into her ear. Never in her life had she been less interested. She sighed and glanced at Gemma, whose wide, blue eyes were reddened with tears and drooping with sadness.

Gemma stopped talking and looked at her expectantly, Sarin froze and supplied “He’s an idiot?” Gemma smiled briefly and started talking again, voice no longer wavering. Sarin internally sighed in relief, she had said the appropriate thing. With nothing else to think on, she began to lament her knowing Tom Riddle. She was in this predicament because of him, he had predictably broken up with Gemma and left Sarin to deal with the fallout.

Sarin tuned in to Gemma once more, “He was so nice about it, too.” She stopped.

“What?” She asked incredulously, “What do you mean?” Gemma stopped and looked at her in confusion.

“Tom? He was so nice about breaking up with me...maybe he was right, we are better off going our separate ways.” Gemma sighed, holding her arms around her chest. Sarin sat beside her in a stupor, _who is this girl and what did she do with the bitter and unforgiving Gemma we all know and love?_

“He sent you an owl.” Sarin said flatly, Gemma turned thoughtful.

“Well, yes...but he sounded so sweet.”

“In the letter? The very brief letter that essentially said he was too good for you?” Sarin scoffed, Gemma raised her hackles.

“It did not!” Before Sarin could protest, Gemma stood and glared down at her, “Just because you’re _jealous_ I had such a lovely admirer—”

Sarin scoffed and stood as well, backing away, “You’re daft!” Gemma just gave her a disgruntled glare and fell back into the armchair, grumpily opening a book and studiously ignoring Sarin.

A wary feeling rose in Sarin’s chest, but she crossed her arms tightly around her chest to dispel it, and retreated down the sloping hall to her dorm. Sarin pushed open the door absent-mindedly and promptly collapsed on her bed. One hand shot out and pulled the curtains of her four-poster bed closed with a harsh tug. With a groan, she buried her head in her pillow and let loose a muffled shout, _what the hell is going on with this school?_

**5 January 1943**

There was a slight rustle, an overgrown rose bush shivered and its shadow on the ground flickered with the shining moonlight. Another rustle, two tall ears twitched out of the leaves, then the hare to whom the ears belonged jumped out. Sarin’s gaze followed it disinterestedly as it sprinted across the grass, kicking up clumps of dirt behind it. The hare could not get away fast enough, _you and me both_ , she thought as she glanced at Tom beside her. She was finding herself more and more in his company, for their patrols. Sarin had a sneaking suspicion that Dippet had purposefully increased their patrols, to force them into an amicable relationship. 

Sarin scoffed to herself, kicking aimlessly at the gravel beneath her feet as she leaned against the rough stone wall by the entrance to the castle, “How much longer?” She asked Tom flatly.

“Ten minutes.” Tom said with equal lack of enthusiasm for his company.

She hummed tonelessly and slumped against the wall, gaze drifting along the edge of the forest, hoping for some intruder to bring excitement to their typically boring patrol. Another rustle. Sarin perked up; and it was another hare.

“Goddamn hares...” She sighed to herself.

“What?” Tom’s smooth voice interrupted her thoughts, Sarin shot him a confused glance, “You said something about ‘Rod can snare.’” A confused smile spread across her face and she shook her head to herself at what he had said, “Who’s Rod?”

Sarin snorted a quiet laugh and waved her hand to dismiss his inquiry, “Nevermind.” Her expression turned thoughtful once more, “While we’re talking somewhat cordially, why did you abandon Gemma?”

Tom’s head retracted in indignation, his hackles raised, “I’m not sure what you mean.” He huffed, turning his head to roll his eyes covertly—Sarin saw and rolled her own in response. 

“I’m not sure what you did, but you’ve turned her against me,” Sarin huffed, annoyance rising up as she saw Tom’s pleased smirk, “Did she thank you for throwing her away?”

Tom caught her gaze and his smirk widened, “As a matter of fact, she did.” He stepped away, one long arm reaching behind him to twist the curling handle of the door to the castle. It opened with a click and a wheeze, Sarin stared at him in disbelief as he slipped through the door.

With significant reluctance, Sarin followed him through the door and pulled it shut behind her, “I have never met someone sorted to their house as suitably as you.” She called after him, making him stop and look back with questioning eyes.

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I’m saying you’re a snake, Tom.” Sarin brushed past him, shoes tapping loudly against the stone steps in the silence her statement had created. A hand shot out and gripped tightly around her elbow, causing her to gasp as she stuttered to a stop on the top step, she glared down at Tom.

“You may want to rethink your position regarding me.” Tom’s voice was low and dark, his eyes tight with barely restrained anger.

“No,” Sarin pulled her arm from his grip, wincing as his nails scratched at her skin, “I don’t think I will. You may have everyone else fooled, but there’s something inherently... _off_ about you, Riddle.” She sneered.

Just as Tom’s eyes narrowed and his hand reached for her once more, a loud bang sounded behind her. Sarin turned with a start, backing away from Tom. Professor Merrythought had emerged from the Great Hall, throwing the double doors wide so they crashed against the wall.

“Mr Riddle? Miss Black?” Merrythought stuttered, face pale beneath a loose curtain of starkly contrasted black hair, “Why are you out of bed at this hour?”

“We’re just returning from our patrol.” Tom’s smooth voice was laced with false concern for their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

“You, uh—” Merrythought turned her head as the school matron, Madame Snow, came up behind her and placed a weathered hand on her shoulder. Snow whispered into Merrythought’s ear for a time, glancing warily at Tom and Sarin who stood in silence at the top of the stairs. Merrythought turned back to them as Snow returned to the Great Hall, “Perhaps you can help, there’s been an attack.”

Sarin’s eyes narrowed and she followed Tom as he walked down the stairs they had just climbed to stand before their professor.

“Someone has died?” Tom’s voice was solemn, Sarin studied him covertly with interest.

“Uh, no...” Merrythought sighed, Sarin caught a slight twitch in Tom’s brow, “A student has been petrified.” Another twitch. Sarin furrowed her brow at Tom who seemed unusually disturbed by this news—or at least as disturbed as Tom was capable of being—and looked at Merrythought with concern.

“How has this happened?” Sarin’s voice rang out calmly, Merrythought’s gaze twitched to land on her.

“Uh...we don’t know.” Merrythought admitted, shaking hands gripping each other as she led them through to the Hall. Inside, between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, a young girl was standing completely still, frozen with fear as she looked down at the table. Sarin recognised her as Elizabeth Heed, the seventh year Ravenclaw prefect. Her prefect’s badge shone on her lapel, a perfect match to Sarin’s own save its royal blue colour. Sarin’s gaze drifted down to where Elizabeth’s was focused, a shining silver dinner plate lay on the table before her, one of her hands was curled around the filigree decorating its edge. 

Backing away from the petrified girl, Sarin turned her attention to Tom. Riddle was staring at the girl with a furrowed brow, his eyes flashing with some untold emotion. Sarin had never seen Tom like this, she felt concern bubbling up in her throat threatening to form words of comfort. She approached him cautiously and laid her right hand on his shoulder, catching his eyes when they looked to her.

“Are you...well?” She grimaced lightly, his eye twitched and he stepped backwards, her hand fell to her side.  
Tom looked towards Merrythought, “May I return to the Dungeons?” He smiled politely, Merrythought nodded distractedly, hand nervously rubbing the back of her neck. Sarin stared after Tom as he exited the Great Hall, _something is wrong with him_ , she thought with certainty, _and I’m going to find out why_.


	7. Upon the Verge

**What Not to Fear**

**Part One: Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter Six: Upon the Verge**

_“In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in waking, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret.” — Edgar Allan Poe_

**5 January 1943**

Outside, a small sliver of pale moon hung high in the dark sky, thousands of twinkling stars accompanied it. Sarin leant her chin on her hand, peering up from the low window of the Slytherin girl’s dormitory. She often lamented the fact that her dorm was nestled below the castle in the dungeons, but it could sometimes be beautiful. Her gaze shifted downward towards the Black Lake, the stars reflected off of its surface which was as black as the midnight sky above. 

A yawn sounded behind her, Sarin turned her head to see Gemma leaning over between the emerald, velvet hangings of Sarin’s bed where she was laying, “What are you doing, Sarin Black?” A slow smile drifted over Gemma’s face as she dropped her head back on her pillow, hand pulling the curtain further back.

“Elizabeth Heed, a Ravenclaw prefect, do you know her?” Sarin’s smooth voice rolled over Gemma, her smile softened and she closed her eyes with a slow blink.

“Yeah,” Gemma yawned, “She’s in my Herbology class—failed her sixth year so she had to repeat.” She snickered derisively. 

“She was petrified.” Sarin said simply, she looked over to see Gemma’s eyes blink open once more and then narrow at her friend.

“Petrified?” Gemma sat up, ruffling her pale hair nonchalantly, “By what? Or, who?”

“They don’t know.” Sarin sighed as she turned back to look out of the window, the tumbling waves of the Black Lake hissing lightly—a sense of unease filled Sarin at the haphazard crashing of the waves, “Did Tom Riddle know Heed?” 

“Uh...maybe?” Gemma furrowed her brow, bringing her legs up over the duvet to sit cross-legged, then she perked up, “Actually, I saw them talking yesterday in the library...well, arguing, more like.”

Sarin glanced over at Gemma as she quietened, “What were they arguing about?”

“Something about some meeting...” At Sarin’s urging look, Gemma rolled her eyes, “I don’t know! Go ask him yourself.” 

With that, Gemma let the curtain fall and turned over, pulling the duvet back over her. Sarin sighed and rolled her eyes, she shivered at the cold air that was streaming through the open window. One hand reached out blindly and pulled the window shut, closing the tiny latch, then Sarin pulled back the curtain to reveal Gemma curled up in her bed.

“Gemma, shove off.” Sarin knelt on the edge of the bed and poked at Gemma’s shoulder, her hand slapped tiredly back and Sarin huffed in irritation—Gemma’s dorm was just another door down, it would be a hundred steps at worst, “Shove over, then.” Sarin relented. 

Gemma shot Sarin a happy smirk and did so, Sarin ignored her and pulled the covers over herself, the curtain fell and drenched them back in darkness. 

**7 January 1943**

Long fingers turned over a yellowed page of a heavy, green-leather tome, two light grey eyes darted up and peered across the room. Sarin sat in the library, her eyes trained on Tom Riddle. In this moment, Sarin was not particularly proud of herself, but she was prepared to forgo propriety in favour of the intriguing circumstances.

Two days previously, Sarin and Tom had been informed of the petrification of a seventh year Ravenclaw prefect, Elizabeth Heed. While Sarin was understandably neutral on this, she observed Tom to have been affected. Whether the effect Heed’s petrification had on Tom was borne out of love or hatred towards her, Sarin did not know. Her eyes narrowed back on Tom as he surfaced a quill from his belongings and began to presumably transcribe notes from an open book on the table before him.

Sarin lamented the lack of insight her position brought and resigned herself to either approach Tom directly—absolutely undesirable, they were not exactly on friendly terms—or give up on her quest. Deciding that the latter was paradoxically less miserable than the absolute undesirableness of the former, Sarin closed her heavy tome and stood from her table and approached Tom’s.

After a moment of silence, she announced her presence, “Tom?” A flicker of amusement filled her as he startled minutely, a lone drop of dark ink splattered across his parchment above where his quill had been idling, “Sorry.” She apologised falsely for the currently ruined state of his notes.

Tom looked up at her in an approximation of a glare, “No trouble.” He smiled tightly, “What did you want?”

Sarin studied the twirling dark stains on the wood of the table, her fingers idled over the patterns. Glancing back at Tom, she swiftly pulled out the closest chair and sat down, Tom sighed through his nose audibly making her smirk at causing him annoyance.

“The night before last...”

Tom stared at her blankly, “Yes?”

“The girl who was petrified, Elizabeth? Did you know her?”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her, “What business is that of yours? Furthermore, why would it interest you in the slightest?” He rolled his eyes and tilted his head down to study his parchment once more, crossing a ‘t’ with a flourish.

“You just...” Sarin faltered with a lack of certainty, “seemed upset?” Her words lilted at the end with continued uncertainty, making it sound as though she had asked a question.

“Was that a question?” Sarin rolled her eyes heavenward at the completely typical answer.

Her voice hardened and she caught his gaze, “You seemed upset.”

“I wasn’t.” He said simply, quill grazing against the parchment to form a summary of the calming properties of moonstone.

Sarin furrowed her brow and sat in silence for a moment, then urged him to elaborate, “What were you, then?”

“Still not any of your business.” Tom insisted, waving her away with a wave of his free hand. Sarin’s head snapped back in offense and she leaned closer.

“No need to be so short.” Sarin snapped.

Tom looked up, faking indignation, “Me, short? Never.” He firmly dotted the final sentence to his notes—the parchment almost tore at his angered fervour—and collected his papers, dumping them into his bag and closing the book he was studying from. He turned to her, “Why have you come here?”

Sarin’s eyes narrowed, “What do you—?”

He interrupted her, “You sit at this table as if we are friends and pester me on my personal relations. Why?”

After a long silence, Sarin searched for an answer. At not finding any that would suit her interests, she decided to speak the truth, “You interest me.” She spoke flatly, eyes narrowed in accusation as if to reproach him for his character.

“I interest you?” A curious smile flickered across his countenance, Tom’s eyes brightened with thought, “That interest me.”

He stood and carried the heavy book in his arms down the nearest aisle of bookshelves, wandering out of Sarin’s sight. Eyes narrowed after him, Sarin stood with a huff and followed him. Tom leaned against a bookshelf in a far corner of the library, arms crossed and book sitting neatly in its allotted space on the shelf by him. Sarin stopped in front of him, they met each other’s gaze.

“There might be use for you yet, Sarin Black.” Tom tilted his head down to stare meaningfully into her eyes, then promptly bustled by her and towards the exit of the library. For a moment, Sarin stared after him, feeling at a loss. She did not know exactly what the undertones of their conversation had been, but she was sure that she would not like them if she did.

With a low exhale, she leaned her hip against the bookshelf, resting her head against the books and closing her eyes. Opening once more, her eyes caught sight of the dusty-blue book that Tom had been copying notes from. Her fingers swiftly pulled it out of its place on the shelf and she rested it against her knee: the title read _Forcing Calmness: A Guide to the Use of Moonstone in Eradicating Anxiety_. 

She thought, _innocent enough_ —they had been assigned a task by Slughorn, their Potions professor, earlier that week that dictated such reading on moonstone. Her fingers slid over the uneven pages and dug in, pulling it up and allowing it to fall open. Gaze flicking over the text, none of it caught her interest. She turned the page again. Sarin flicked through the book until a picture caused her to stop. 

It was of a woman, she was resting calmly on a plinth, arms crossed over her chest. The image idled as her magically animated chest rose and fell with each breath. Suddenly, a second figure slid into the frame, a man knelt by the woman and brushed her hair from her face. Sarin’s eyes widened as the man’s hands dropped to the woman’s chest and tightened. 

As the man’s face grew red with exertion, the woman remained still and sleeping. His grip continued until the chest of the woman rose no more. _Less innocent_ , Sarin grimaced at the picture, reading the caption that denoted it as a warning to any who overused moonstone; they could be subject to anything under its influence with no way of waking or fighting back.

Sarin closed the book and pushed it back onto the shelf, swallowing heavily around her suddenly dry throat. With a brush of her hand through her hair, she pushed the thought from her mind, fingers tapping idly against the cover of the book. 

**15 January 1943**

Professor Slughorn droned on and on, his voice stuttering and rising in volume with his own excitement at his chosen topic of lecture: the long-term effects of magical antivenins. Looking around at the rows of bored and listless students, he was the only one with such excitement, primarily because they happened to be in the final period on a Friday. Sarin had her head ducked and was watching the twirling quill of her table-mate Abraxas Malfoy, a winding and curling floral pattern was weaving itself onto the corner of their assigned textbook page. 

A particularly elaborate flower bloomed in blush-pink and golden yellow as Abraxas tapped his wand to the paper with a wordless incantation. Its petals ruffled in some unseen wind in the picture, and Sarin became transfixed in the undulating movement. Next, a larger and more uniformly drawn white and faintly pink lotus unfurled, Sarin hadn’t seen Abraxas draw it, it had appeared out of nothing. Sarin’s brow furrowed as she noticed a tiny line of letters crumpled in on themselves had been revealed in the centre. At another tap of Abraxas’ wand, the letters smoothed themselves out and drifted into formation, _midnight_ was written in handwriting too flowing and neat to be Abraxas’.

Sarin’s gaze drifted up to Abraxas’ face and she noticed that his own eyes were fixated on someone a few rows ahead. She followed his line of sight to see the back of Tom Riddle’s head which was tilted down as he seemingly focused on his work, her mouth twitched slightly. _Of course it would be Riddle; secret messages hidden elaborately, dictating the times of shady meetings_ , Sarin thought to herself with a discreet roll of her eyes.

Abraxas tapped his wand on the paper a final time and the coloured ink began to fade until all that was left was a blank space where the lotus and its hidden message had been. He stuffed his wand in his pocket and picked up his quill once more, then began to fill in the spaces with a more detailed flower than the lotus. 

After entertaining a flighting fancy of interrupting their secret midnight meeting, Sarin decided on the contrary, thinking there would be a significant risk to her health if she did. Rather, Sarin thought she might continue to investigate into Tom’s secret doings; maybe she would infiltrate his organisation like in the Muggle spy novels her mother hated, Sarin smiled thoughtfully to herself.


	8. I Am Not What I Am

**What Not to Fear**

**Part One: Afraid of the Light**

**Chapter Seven: I Am Not What I Am**

_“But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve / For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.” Othello, William Shakespeare_

**17 January 1943**

The sun had barely risen above the horizon to turn the night sky a light and dusty pink before a shrieking scream filled the castle. Two Gryffindor students, a boy and a girl, had been found in a courtyard staring through a stained glass window, their frozen eyes wide and terrified. Sarin barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes, yet another victim to this unseen petrifying force. Sparing a glance for Tom, Sarin noticed belatedly that his eyes showed no emotion as they had for Elizabeth Heed. _Curious_ , Sarin noted before returning her attention to the hall. They had been tasked with keeping the corridor clear while Madame Snow conjured two stretchers for the petrified students.

“Good riddance, I say. Mudbloods,” A sneering voice echoed loudly throughout the corridor, Sarin narrowed her eyes towards its origin—a Slytherin third year.

“Clear the corridor,” Sarin called blandly, ushering them away with a gesture of her arms. The boy who had spoken snickered and slinked off, his crony following with a smirk.

At seeing that the corridor was deserted once more, Sarin rested listlessly against the wall opposite to the window the two petrified students stood behind. Their faces were warped and shimmering golden yellow and crimson red through the stained glass, the lion of Gryffindor snarling and snapping at Sarin as if she were a threat.

“Calm down, mutt,” She mumbled with annoyance at the lion, it settled into a snarl and a low growl.

“Speaking to windows now, are we?” Tom’s insolent voice called from where he was standing with crossed arms a few feet away. Sarin rolled her eyes upward then deigned to ignore him.

She stood in silence for a moment, before deciding to breach the topic of the petrified students with him once more, “Why’s this one different to Heed? Did you actually know her, then? Or, are you one of those people who think that just because a person was borne of a Muggle their magic is false and their blood is muddied?” Sarin sneered in anticipation that he would belong to the latter group.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarin noticed that Tom flinched at her words and she turned to stare at him in wonder, “Oh, you are, aren’t you?” She scoffed, “I expected better of you...there’s absolutely no proof that Muggleborns have lesser abilities. I’d prefer to have Muggle parents than come from a Pureblood family. Riddled with incest.” Sarin winced, Tom looked at her oddly for the last comment, she noticed and chuckled, “Well, it is. I’m lucky I was born with all ten toes.” Her laugh turned to a shudder at the thought.

Another silence befell them as Tom seemed at a loss, Sarin started again, “Why do you have such a prejudice, then. I’ve never heard of the ‘Riddle’s. Are you a Pureblood?” Just as Tom’s eyes narrowed in anger and a slight flush began to rise on his alabaster cheeks, Madame Snow bustled into the hall with two stretchers floating behind her, as well as Professors Dumbledore and Slughorn rushing behind her.

“Tom, Sarin.” Dumbledore greeted them genially as if he had not just been running with his robes swooshing around his ankles, “Just terrible, you’ve encountered victims of this being twice now, haven’t you?”

Sarin narrowed her eyes at his innocently posed question, not liking his inferring that they had something to do with it, “Well, we are prefects. It’s our duty to patrol the halls, as Professor Dippet dictates. I suppose that just includes a lot more discovering of petrified victims.” Dumbledore hummed at what she had said, staring over his half-moon spectacles at her, pale blue eyes piercing into her own gaze.

With a light shudder, Sarin broke their stare and glanced towards Tom. He was staring at Dumbledore with poorly concealed hatred and frustration. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, then found Dumbledore’s once more, “May we be excused? We’ve been on patrol since midnight...at least it’s Sunday.” Sarin smiled weakly, Dumbledore’s brow furrowed.

“Of course, rest well, you two.” At that, Tom abruptly turned and walked down the corridor. Sarin shared an awkward look with Dumbledore, then turned to follow Tom. As they rounded the corner—Sarin close on Tom’s heels—she reached an arm out and snagged his jacket, he turned and sneered in anger, nostrils flaring.

“What is it that you require from me now, you incessant woman?” Tom clenched his jaw in anger, staring into Sarin’s wide eyes.

“I—”

Tom shook his head then pulled his arm from her grasp, continuing on his fast journey in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons. Shaking breaths shuddered from Sarin’s throat as she leant against the harsh, stone wall behind her, heart beating strongly in her chest as she realised the inherent sense of danger Tom had projected with his glare.

**12 February 1943**

Beneath Sarin’s feet the once pure white snow had turned to a muddy-brown mush as winter melted away into spring, a tree creaked and she shivered as a pat of snow fell by her feet and splashed water onto her stockings. With a grimace, Sarin resigned herself to buying a new pair of stockings on the next Hogsmeade weekend and trudged on.

A two almost identical heads of pale ashy hair trudged along in front of her—differing only by Gemma’s hair being much longer than that of her twin’s. Sarin sighed, a cloud of white smoke billowed around her mouth and froze in the air when Sarin suddenly stopped. Ahead of her, the twins had turned their heads to glare behind them; Sarin’s eyes were as wide as a startled doe’s until logic prevailed and she remembered the disillusionment charm she had placed over herself.  Gemma and Indus Lestrange turned back around, continuing on through the tall, thin trees of the labyrinth that was the Forbidden Forest.

Breathing slowly to calm herself for a moment, Sarin looked up at the inky black sky. The only light radiated from the half-moon that hung high amongst the countless wavering stars. An iridescent, pale glow befell the pale-wood trees surrounding her, as well as the eerily shimmering hair of the Lestrange siblings ahead of her. Sarin started again, following the twins quickly so as to remove their distance from her.

It had been almost a month since the last attacks had taken place, and the school had calmed in the meantime; the threat of the school disbanding to protect its students no longer loomed menacingly over their shoulders. Despite the lack of a conviction, or even evidence of any suspect as far as Sarin knew, the curfew implemented after the Gryffindors were petrified had been lifted and life returned to its usual banality. Sarin was not as lax as her classmates, nor her professors. She had overlooked the secret meeting that the lotus flower on Abraxas’ parchment had shown, but after seeing similar notes a few times since, Sarin could no longer combat her curiosity.

Earlier, a tiny furl of sketched green vines had unfurled to show two tiny ones standing side by side, to dictate that the meeting would take place at eleven. What had caught Sarin’s attention was not the fact that the time of the meeting had changed, but that she had seen this message amongst another’s belongings—Gemma had lent Sarin her potions textbook and the note had fluttered out. The vines lay limp as if they had been hacked in twain, likely by Gemma’s incantation, and revealed the message.

So, Sarin found herself ducking between trees as she followed along behind her closest friend—the thought of which made her wince and lament her being sorted into Slytherin—and Gemma’s twin. Ahead, Sarin could see a dull, pale white glow illuminate a small clearing. Five people were gathered in a haphazard circle, Gemma and Indus joining them to make their numbers seven. Sarin pressed herself behind a tree with her disillusioned face peeking around to examine them, she recognised her fellow Slytherins: Abraxas Malfoy, Mulciber, Avery, Lucretia Black—sister to Orion, her second-cousin that was overly fond of Walburga.

Her gaze drifted to the final person standing beside Lucretia and her fingers clenched hard to the bark of the tree she was leaning against, Sarin’s sister Walburga stood with Lucretia, their heads were together and both were snickering. With a low groan, Sarin let her head fall next to her hand on the bark of the tree, wincing as she felt it scrape over her temple.

Startling, Sarin realised that the seven people gathered in the clearing before her had turned when she had made that low sound, she quickly glanced at her hand to see nothing but bark—the disillusionment charm still held. There was a sharp crack of the twigs on the forest floor and Sarin whipped her head around to see another figure approaching from behind her, the figure that the group had been staring at.

Tom’s expression was blank, he did not seem to see Sarin. She ducked to the side just in time to avoid the tail of his cloak as it whipped around in the low night wind. Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest she was almost certain they would hear it.

“Mulciber,” Tom’s clear voice rang loudly in the clearing as he came to a stop by the gathered group, “Was I unclear in our last meeting?” His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was confused; the sharp edge to his voice and coldness of his gaze undercut this. A shiver ran through Sarin and she could see that Mulciber felt the same way, his skin paled and a light sheen of sweat became clear on his forehead in the moonlight.

“I—”

Tom raised a pale, long-fingered hand and Mulciber stopped speaking with a gulp, now visibly shaking, “I asked you to arrange for a Mudblood to be in the fifth floor corridor by midnight. Was this too difficult a task?” Sarin sneered at Tom’s use of the favourite curse of most Purebloods, Mulciber began to tremble further as he tried to manage a reply.

A short sigh escaped Tom and he stood tall in front of Mulciber, “It was obviously too much to ask of you. I’ll just have to arrange it for myself.” Mulciber nodded jerkily, eyes glinting with wary hope, “You understand, of course, that your actions cannot go unpunished?”

Sarin’s heart continued to beat loudly in her head and she suddenly wished she had not followed Gemma and Indus, that she was back in the Slytherin dungeons snuggled in the emerald covers of her four-poster. Tom stepped forward, his arm raising and all eyes were drawn to the long, severe pale-wood wand pointing in Mulciber’s direction. A muttered word came carelessly loose from Tom’s lips, “ _Crucio_.”

A piercing scream shattered through the otherwise still night, Mulciber crumpled to the ground and writhed on the snowy forest floor, Tom stood above him with his wand trained on Mulciber’s figure. Sarin’s eyes widened and she took a decisive step back; she had never seen the Cruciatus Curse performed before. When she was young she would lie awake at night and had heard her parents use it on House-Elves and on some unnamed man once; the screams had been muffled through the halls of Black Manor. The screams were not muffled in this moment.

Above the screaming man, six smirking faces looked on in mirth and Sarin hated every one of them. She could not believe that Gemma and Indus, even her sister Walburga could be so cruel. Sarin thought that she might stop this torture, but the cold fear ran too deep in her veins. Mulciber had curled into a ball and tears were openly streaming down his face, the screaming suddenly stopped and he gasped a breath; Tom had lowered his wand.

“I suspect you shall endeavour to do better in the future?” Tom’s flippant voice sounded quiet in the wake of the screaming, Mulciber shuddered on the ground, head shaking up and down where it lay on a pile of soft snow. For all the screaming, Sarin thought the snow should have been dyed a stark red with blood, the Cruciatus Curse was made more terrifying for its lack of physical effects.

Sarin backed away further, turning and walking swiftly away from the circle of cruel monsters, collapsing on a snow bank when she was far enough away that she could neither see nor hear them. Her hands rose in front of her face and she could see them trembling in the pale moonlight, her arms dropped to tighten around her stomach and she felt as though she was holding herself together; that, if she faltered, she would spill out onto the snow and succumb to the chilling cold that seemed to seep into her skin.


End file.
